


Spark a Memory

by Katyakora



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), John Doe (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, John is Mick's brother, Reunions, Set early-mid season 2, Time Travel, kiwi!Mick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 20:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12175713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katyakora/pseuds/Katyakora
Summary: John knows everything, yet remembers nothing and no one about his past. Mick thought he lost his brother thirty years ago. When fate and time travel lets their paths cross once more, both men are offered a chance at a future they didn't think they had, but only if they are willing to take it.





	Spark a Memory

**Author's Note:**

> For leeferal. I'm sorry, this ended up way angstier than intended.
> 
> John Doe, for those who don't know, is a show Dominic Purcell starred in in 2002 where he played a man who had no memory of anything before waking up naked and alone on an island, yet can correctly answer any question on any subject. It got canceled after one season so no one knows how or why this happened to him, nor what the deal of the Phoenix Group is; a shadowy organisation tracking John and severely messing with him.
> 
> Just a note, John is refered to as both John and Tommy in this, which may be confusing, but they are the same person.
> 
> Also this has a lot of my kiwi!Mick headcanons, because it's my story so I can. For the curious, there are notes about the pronunciation of their names at the end.

_November, 2002_

 

On any given night, dozens of people walk through the doors of The Sea to share a meal or buy a drink. Most aren’t particularly noteworthy and they fade into the background, but some are interesting enough to draw John’s attention. He once spent two hours discussing the cultural significance of a young man’s tattoos, has debated theories on ancient linguistics with a world-renowned professor after commenting on her sanskrit engraved bracelet, and even  debated the merits of theoretical materials with a textile engineer. Digger didn’t seem to mind when John took a break away from the piano to meet people. John himself always held out the fragile hope that one day, he’d be recognised. He held an even smaller hope that one day he’d meet someone and think ‘oh, it’s you’.

 

John didn’t recognise either of the women who sat at the bar, sharing glances at him and low, hushed conversation. That hope he couldn’t seem to stifle wanted to think that they recognised him, with the way they both couldn’t seem to look away from him for long. But the furrow in their brows and the tension they both seemed to carry had him thinking that if they did, whatever memories they had of him weren’t good. Regardless, John knew he couldn’t stop himself from at least asking. He was too hungry for a past to risk letting it slip by.

 

The song he’d been playing came to an end, and John rose from the bench to the sound of the restaurant patrons’ applause. He smiled and bowed his head as he always did and headed towards the bar. He stopped beside the two girls and leaned against the bar, gesturing to Digger to get him a drink, receiving a suggestively raised eyebrow in their direction and a smirk along with it. John just rolled his eyes at his friend. He had intended to strike up conversation with the girls, only on closer inspection, he found himself distracted.

 

“Hey, Buddy? Something wrong with your neck, or do I need to find a crane to lift those eyes?” the blonde snapped pointedly with a dangerous-looking smirk. Belatedly, John realised that from the blonde’s perspective, he had been staring blankly at her friend’s chest.

 

“Oh,” he exclaimed, straightening up and backtracking hastily. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t staring, well, I was, but not at- *ahem* your totem, I was studying your totem.” He gestured vaguely to the ornate necklace around the other woman’s neck. “It’s fascinating.”

 

The African woman’s hand rose unconsciously to her necklace. “You recognised it as a totem?” she asked curiously.

 

“Yes,” John responded excitedly, glad to have a reason to move past his accidental faux pas. “The Tantu Totem, to be precise; a revered ancient relic of a small tribe in the M’Changa province of Zambesi. Legend says that it was created by Anansi, a trickster god, for the warrior Tantu. It was said to grant him the power of the animal kingdom to aid in the village’s protection, and was passed down his family line through the generations. It’s more likely it was a symbol of the village’s most skilled warrior, and it was thought to have been lost some time in the 1940’s.”

 

John’s excitement dimmed a little as he realised both women were just staring at him, slack-jawed.

 

“You are definitely not Mick,” the blonde murmured to herself.

 

“Did you think you recognised me?” John couldn’t help but ask, her words reigniting his hope.

 

“Yes. You just so happen to bear a striking resemblance to a friend of ours,” the brunette explained.

 

“Really?” John perked up at her words. “Just how remarkable a resemblance would you say?”

 

“If it wasn’t for the hair and your age, you could be twins,” the blonde affirmed, her intense gaze looking him up and down.

 

John’s pulse rose as his excitement grew. A resemblance as uncanny as they claimed was most likely to occur within familial groups, which meant there was a chance, however small, that this friend of theirs could be a relative of his. Abruptly, the brunette’s gaze shifted to the side, like she was concentrating on something. The blonde’s head tilted ever so slightly and John caught a minute dilation in her eyes. Blood vessels in the brain expanded with noise, causing the pupils to enlarge fractionally; she was listening to something, they both were, something John couldn’t hear. John took a moment to really study them, and his unfathomable mind informed him that the blonde stood with the stance of a warrior, and listed an impressive number of martial arts she was likely to know based off of the distribution of muscle tone, some visible callouses and even a few scars. Her friend was similarly deadly, with a fighter’s body and the callouses of a swordswoman. He took a step back as dread curled in his gut.

 

“We should go,” the blonde said abruptly, stepping back from the bar.

 

“Yeah, we’re meeting some friends, wouldn’t want to be late,” the brunette added, grabbing her bag of the counter and they both headed for the door at a speed just below suspicious.

 

“It was nice meeting you,” the brunette called back over her shoulder.

 

John was left staring after them, wondering if he’d just let a possible connection slip through his fingers, or if he’d just avoided another of the Phoenix Group’s mind games.

 

* * *

 

“It’s Mick,” Amaya whispered in shock over the comms.

 

“What? Did you just say it’s Mick?” Jax confirmed, glancing at the aforementioned pyro leaning against the Waverider’s main console, who shrugged. “It can’t be, he’s right here.”

 

“I’m telling you, it’s Mick,” Sara confirmed. “Fifteen years younger and with hair, but it’s him. Mick is our aberration.”

 

Ray, Nate, Stein and Jax all looked to Mick, who stared back with a confused scowl over his ever-present beer bottle.

 

“Can’t be,” he grunted, “I was in Iron Heights in ‘02.”

 

“Gideon did say this guy was an amnesiac. Hell, he calls himself John Doe. Maybe you just don’t remember,” Ray suggested. Mick glared at him.

 

“Actually, official records corroborate Mr Rory’s account,” Gideon chimed in. She displayed an image of his mugshot, which included the date of his arrest.

 

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence?” Jax suggested, shrugging.

 

“You guys shut up, he’s walking this way,” Sara ordered hastily.

 

“Gideon, I don’t suppose you could access the restaurant’s security cameras?” Stein asked.

 

“Certainly, Professor.”

 

A videofeed appeared on the screen, grainy and black and white, but Amaya and Sara were recognisable. Unfortunately, the angle wasn’t quite right to see John Doe’s face.

 

Which was a part of the problem. In a few days, this man would be responsible for the timequake they had detected earlier, by disappearing without a trace a month before he could save the life of a woman who would have far-reaching effects on history. The problem was that, not only would he disappear, but all record of him would be erased, so they had nothing more to go on than what anecdotal evidence Gideon had found. All they knew was that they were looking for an amnesiac savant who went by the name of John Doe, worked at a restaurant as a pianist and offered the local police his talents on occasion. At the start of their mission, they hadn’t had so much as a photo to go by.

 

Over the comm, they heard Sara snap at him, and then a smooth voice could be heard, low, like Mick’s but not as husky, with a generic accent that lacked Mick’s Keystone City cadence. He also seemed to know an awful lot about Amaya’s totem.

 

“I think we can safely rule out Mr Rory,” Stein muttered as John finished his explanation.

 

“Yeah, not even I knew some of that,” Nate agreed.

 

Mick didn’t comment, he just stared at the screen as their conversation continued, half an idea, an impossible possibility, growing at the back of his mind. And then Sara made a comment about them looking like twins, and Mick suddenly had a very visceral recollection of every time anyone had ever told him how much his little brother looked just like a smaller version of him.

 

“Tommy…”

 

Mick wasn’t aware he’d murmured the name aloud, not until he felt Ray place a gentle hand on his shoulder, the inventor peering at him with concern.

 

“Mick? Do you know him?”

 

“...I think he might be my brother.”

 

“I thought you didn’t have any living family?” Jax asked hesitantly.

 

“So did I,” Mick replied baldly, his eyes locked on the screen where Sara and Amaya were making hasty excuses to leave. He was so focused he hadn’t even bothered to shake off Ray’s hand.

 

On the screen, John Doe turned to watch them leave, his face in profile to the camera. Mick sucked in a breath, feeling like he’d just been sucker punched. There was his father’s nose, his grandfather’s jaw. Things that Mick had inherited, just like Tommy had. John twisted to speak to the bartender and now there was no mistaking the resemblance, despite the feed’s poor quality. There was his mother’s mouth and cheekbones, and the video didn’t need to be in colour for Mick to know his eyes were a dark blue, unlike Mick’s deep grey. But what really struck Mick was how utterly lost he looked.

 

Abruptly, Mick turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

 

He hadn’t seen Tommy since he was a crying thirteen year old, sitting in the back of a courtroom watching Mick get sentenced. To this day, that image was seared into his mind’s eye. Back then, Mick had held out a little hope that when he got out, he could find Tommy and make things right, somehow. For the first few months, he’d even hoped that Tommy might send him a letter. But time went on and he heard nothing. When he finally got released, he tried to track Tommy down. Not to talk to him, he’d finally figured out that he was probably the last person Tommy ever wanted to see again. He had just wanted to check on him, to make sure his little brother was okay; he’d always been the most sensitive of their brothers, and losing the whole family and going into foster care would have been hard on him. To his despair, he learned that his brother was missing; a runaway, the police report said, like so many foster kids before him. But Mick didn’t stop searching, aware as he was how dangerous the streets could be. Eventually though, Mick had to give up and accept that Tommy was either dead in a ditch or had done such a good job of getting away from Mick that there was no real point to looking for him anymore.

 

Mick stormed down into the cargo bay, his hands shaking. He picked a crate at random and launched it across the room with a roar. He’d given up. He’d given up on Tommy, and now he learned his little brother was lost and alone, desperately searching for any connection to his unknown past. Mick slammed his fist down onto another crate, pain rocketing up his arm which he ignored. Who knew what Tommy had suffered in the intervening years? And in the end, it was all Mick’s fault. A dent appeared in the crate with a satisfying thunk as Mick brought his fist down on it again and again.

 

“Woah! Woah! Mick, come on, you’re gonna hurt yourself!” Ray exclaimed, rushing to Mick’s side and grabbing a hold of his wrist to restrain him.

 

“Get off a' me!” Mick snarled, shoving him off roughly, but didn’t go back to beating his hand bloody. “Go mind your own fucking business!”

 

“Mick, buddy, I know this can’t be easy for you, but please, let’s just talk about it.”

 

“You don’t know shit!” Mick snapped, sending another crate sailing across the room. “I’m the reason he doesn’t know his own goddamn name!”

 

“Mick, what are you talking about?”

 

“I killed our family, he went into foster care because of me!” Mick snarled. “He disappeared and I gave up on him! Whatever happened to him, it’s my fault!”

 

“It’s not your fault!” Ray insisted, standing his ground in the face of Mick’s self-loathing rage. “Yes, what happened to your family was horrible and tragic, but what happened to your brother isn’t on you! And besides, we don’t even know for sure if it is him. He could just be some guy who looks like you. Scarily like you, yes, but it’s not proof.”

 

“Either way, we’re sending you in to talk to him.”

 

Both men startled at Sara’s words, neither having noticed her arrival.

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Ray contended hesitantly, his eyes flicking pointedly over to where Mick stood rigid with tension and breathing heavily, his knuckles dripping blood onto the floor.

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Sara waved him off and moved to stand in front of Mick, her arms crossed. “You get a chance, Mick. A chance that most of the people on this boat would kill for. You lost a brother, but now you get to save his life. Whatever happened before, it’s in the past. The slate couldn’t be cleaner. So go. Talk to your brother. You might just get him back.” Despite the firmness of her tone, it is clear that Sara was dwelling on her own grief, on the sister she could never save.

 

Mick clenched his jaw, fighting down the lump in his throat. He thought of his last conversation with Leonard, before he’d put him back on the road to his destiny. That had been painful, yes, but he’d also felt lighter afterwards. Closure, his shrink would have told him. He balled his fists, gathering the courage to commit to his decision. If nothing else, maybe he’d at least get some closure.

 

“I’ll go,” he told her, and Sara nodded, her gaze heavy with understanding. “But I don’t say I didn’t warn you when I screw this up.”

 

Sara smiled sadly. “Mick, I don’t think you can. I saw his face when he thought there was even a slight chance we knew him. You’re gonna make his year just by walking through that door. Trust me.”

 

A few hours later, Mick walked into The Sea with the absurd thought that the establishment was aptly named; Mick certainly felt like he was drowning. The sign outside proclaimed they were closed, but the lights and the soft, mournful piano music were invitation enough for Mick to slip inside quietly. He felt like he was in a daze as he wandered in, his feet leading him towards the bar almost without his consent. He paused when he got there, unable to tear his eyes away from the figure seated just a few yards away, his back to Mick as his fingers danced across the keys. For the first time in years, Mick found he could hear that sweet, familiar tune without wanting to punch something.

 

“I'd tell you we're closed, but somehow I don't think you're here to drink.”

 

The quiet, dry comment jarred Mick out of his daze. It came from the blond, mustachioed bartender currently eyeing Mick from behind the bar, his expression half suspicious, half incredulous.

 

“I wouldn’t turn down a drink, but no, that ain’t what I’m here for,” Mick replied, just as quietly. Both of their eyes drifted over to the figure still playing on, oblivious.

 

“If you’re who I think you are, he’s been waitin’ a long time for you.” Despite their innocuous nature, the bartender’s words had an edge to them, a hint of accusation.

 

“I know,” Mick conceded. The bartender waited, but Mick wasn’t interested in elaborating further. With a sigh, the bartender placed a shot glass on the bar and filled it with cheap, strong whiskey.

 

“On the house,” he offered with a gesture. “I’ll give you two some privacy. But remember,” his light, jovial expression fell away into the cold, hard face of a man who could and had taken a human life before, “if you’re just here to hurt him? I got a shotgun or five hidden around the place that I ain’t shy about using. Understand?”

 

“I’ll stand nice and still for ya,” Mick replied, utterly serious. The bartender just arched a brow, but nodded.

 

“Digger,” he introduced himself simply, holding out his hand.

 

“Mick,” he replied, taking it in a firm shake.

 

“I’ll be out back.” With that, Digger turned away, heading for a door on the other side of the bar.

 

Mick glanced over to where Tommy sat, playing. He picked up the shot Digger had poured him and tossed it back, letting the burn of cheap whiskey clear his racing thoughts. Finally, he squared his shoulders and stepped away from the bar.

 

* * *

 

 

The Sea was closed, and all the patrons were long gone. Most of the staff were done for the night; only Digger remained, counting up cash in his office out the back. It wasn’t unusual for John to stay long after closing, just sitting at the piano, letting his fingers play while his mind was far away. It was cathartic to let his emotions out, to hear them vibrate through the air in the form of beautiful music he didn’t remember learning.

 

Tonight, he was thinking about the two women he’d met. Nothing about his interaction with them really made sense. A part of him wanted to think they were part of the Phoenix Group, but if so, then they had been far too sloppy for what he’d come to expect from them. Another part of him thought that maybe they had just been a pair of random girls who just happened to know someone who resembled him. If so, could he possibly be related to that person? And what was it that had caught their attention while they were talking? Why did they leave so suddenly? It was possible he could have just spooked them, he knew he wasn’t the best at picking up on social cues. But he couldn’t help but think there was more to it than that, and he was inclined to go with his gut. He didn’t notice that as he thought, his fingers inevitably played out the notes of My Funny Valentine, the way they always seemed to when he was ruminating on his empty past. At this point, he was starting to think he played it just because he had begun to associate it with moping.

 

“Ain’t you sick of that song yet?”

 

John twisted in his seat, startled by the unexpected intrusion. Standing there, not ten feet from him with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, was himself. Well, not quite. In addition to being clearly older, the stranger’s head was shaved, his jaw and nose were slightly broader than John’s, his build bulkier and his mouth slightly fuller. John blinked and swallowed as he rose slowly to his feet, his heartbeat hammering in his throat.

 

“Hey, Squirt,” the man rumbled. “Been a long time.”

 

He spoke with the rolling cadence of a Keystone City native, but with a roundness to his vowels that suggested time spent in another country. His dark eyes drank John in as though committing him to memory. He was trying to hide it, but the shakiness of his breath and the wideness of his eyes betrayed how rattled he was. The hands he had shoved in his jacket pockets were clearly balled into fists.

 

“I...wouldn’t know,” John responded in a daze. “How long has it been?”

 

“For you? ‘Bout fifteen years, give or take.”

 

John took a hesitant step forward, wetting his lips nervously. This was exactly one of the possibilities he had been contemplating all night, yet now that he found himself faced by a stranger with his face, he was struggling to string his thoughts and hopes together.

 

“I...are you...my father?”

 

That surprised a bark of laughter out of the stranger.

 

“Damn, Squirt, I ain’t that old.” His mirth faded away as he looked at John, something like regret darkening his eyes. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

 

John shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving the other man. He realised his hands were trembling as he took another step forward, his pulse thundering in his ears.

 

“Who are you?”

 

The other man took a deep, fortifying breath, apparently just as off-kilter as John was.

 

“Mick Rory. I’m your asshole big brother.”

 

In any other situation, John might have been suspicious; he’d been played too many times by the Phoenix Group not to be. But the resemblance was undeniable, and once Mick had stated it, John just knew. Just like he knew the speed of sound, the population of Milan, or every word of Shakespeare’s works. He just knew it to be true. Mick was his brother.

 

“You’re my...I have a ...I have a brother,” he murmured in disbelief, choking a little on the words as tears welled up in his eyes. A grin split his face so wide it hurt. “You’re my brother.”

 

Mick swallowed, his own eyes glistening a little. “Yeah. Sorry it took me so long.”

 

John hadn’t realised he was reaching out until his hand connected with Mick’s shoulder. The dam seemed to burst then, both men crumbling towards each other into a fierce hug. John clung tight, savouring the sensation, the scent of smoke, beer and cinnamon combining in his olfactory library to be forever associated with family, with Mick. Mick chuckled a little wetly into his shoulder.

 

“Shoulda known. You always were the emotional one.”

 

John was definitely crying now as he chuckled with him, achingly overjoyed to meet someone who _knew_ him. Someone who had real memories of him, who had known the man behind his encyclopedic brain. He wasn’t sure who was trembling more, him or Mick. They stood like that for several long moments, neither really willing to be the one to let go. John had no way of knowing what was going through Mick’s head, but his own was reeling with this revelation, with all that this could possibly mean for him. He would no longer be a living ghost, with no tangible ties to this world that he knew so well yet didn’t really know at all. He drew back, but left his hands on Mick’s shoulders, irrationally afraid that he might disappear if John let go.

 

“I have so many questions,” John exclaimed, his excitement fed by his jubilation at the thought of finally having answers. “What’s my name? How old am I? Where are we from? Do we have any other fam-”

 

“Woah, woah, slow down, Squirt,” Mick interrupted. “Let’s...grab a beer, sit down and I’ll get into it. Figure this is gonna take a while.”

 

John hadn’t thought his grin could get any wider but it did. He practically jumped over to the bar, Mick watching him go with a fond shake of his head at John’s exuberance. John grabbed two beers from behind the bar, making a mental note to add them to his tab. He slowed as he made his way back to the low couches Mick had dropped onto, his grin dimming.

 

“I hope this is ok?” he said hesitantly, holding out the bottle. “I don’t know what you prefer.”

 

“It’s alcoholic, it’s fine,” Mick assured him, taking the bottle and using the edge of the coffee table to pop the cap off. John sat down opposite him and tried the same trick, pleased when it worked. He looked up to see Mick just watching him with a fond expression that seemed almost pained.

 

“Tommy,” Mick said abruptly.

 

“My name?” John guessed.

 

“Yeah. And you’re, uh, let’s see, it’s ‘02,” Mick trailed off in a mutter, using his fingers to calculate, “Thirty one, three years difference, so you’re... wait, what’s today’s date?”

 

“It’s June ninth,” John supplied.

 

“Right, so you’re twenty eight. Happy birthday, by the way. It was on the 2nd.”

 

“So then I was born on the second of June, 1974?” John concluded. “Not February fourteenth.”

 

Mick frowned. “Why’d you think that was your birthday?”

 

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” John explained with a shrug, “and for some reason I keep playing My Funny Valentine. I thought maybe it was a connection.”

 

“It was,” Mick told him quietly, “it just ain’t your birthday.” He stopped looking directly at John, instead he looked down at his hands fiddling with the label of his beer bottle. “Mom loved that song. It was the song her ma used to sing her to sleep, and she sang it to all of us.” His words were slow and monotonous, almost like he was forcing them out. It was strange; John would have thought these were happy memories. “You, uh, you were gonna play it for her on her birthday. Traded two weeks worth of yard work to get piano lessons from our neighbour. Every second Mom was out of the house, you practiced. I got so fucking sick of that song.”

 

He trailed off, staring blankly at his bottle. For some reason, John felt something like dread curling in his stomach.

 

“Did she like it? When I played it for her?” he asked hesitantly. Mick’s eyes flicked up to meet his and the old pain John saw in them made that dread solidify and drop like a stone.

 

“Don’t know,” Mick stated, regret and resignation deepening every line on his face. “She died before you got the chance.”

 

“Oh,” was all John could say, feeling like all the wind had been knocked out of him. He felt strangely empty, a cavity inside of him where he should have been mourning the woman who brought him into the world. He felt almost cheated, with no memory to grieve, just an idea of a mother and his brother’s words of her. “If it’s not too painful...when? How?”

 

“Same way and time the rest of the family went.” Mick seemed to be forcing himself to look John in the eyes as he told him, the weight of his own words making his shoulders sag. “Turns out, teenage pyromaniac and old wooden houses don’t mix too well. Didn’t mean to. I didn’t get properly diagnosed until I was in juvie, and by then…” Mick sighed wearily, his eyes running over John in a way that made him think Mick thought he wouldn’t get to see him again. “...I burned our house down when I was sixteen.”

 

John’s thoughts came to a screeching halt, that same empty shadow of grief hollowing his chest. It snuffed out some of the hope that had been building there upon finding his brother; hope of discovering a big family waiting to know and love him. His traitorous brain conjured a dozen horrifying facts about the reality of burning to death. He couldn’t even imagine how it would feel to witness that, what Mick must have gone through knowing he caused that. John couldn’t fathom the kind of courage it must have taken to admit to it, to lay out the truth so soon into their reunion. The look on Mick’s face told John that his brother had resigned himself to John’s judgement. John stood, giving in to the need to pace behind the couch as he tried to process the new information.

 

“What happened?” he asked, unable to contain the burning need to know, to have all the facts. “Tell me. Please?”

 

“I don’t know, exactly,” Mick admitted tiredly. “One minute, I’m staring at Dad’s lighter, the next thing I know it’s too hot to breath. I crawled out the back door, but even then, all I did was...watch.”

 

“How did I survive?” John asked, leaning forward onto the back of the couch as his mind slotted the information into place.

 

“You weren’t there. At a sleepover, I think.”

 

John nodded slowly, the full picture finally formed in his mind. He moved to sit back down on the couch.

 

“Pyromania…” John murmured, leaning on his advanced knowledge as he tried to find the right words. “An impulse control disorder, characterised by an inexplicable desire to start fires as a form of tension relief or gratification. Individuals suffering from it often experience euphoria and intense fascination in the presence of fire.”

 

“I know that,” Mick growled.

 

“Then you must know that it wasn’t your fault,” John stated sincerely. Mick flinched back, clearly startled. John fought back a wince, feeling woefully under-qualified to handle this situation, even more so than his usual sense of inadequacy when it came to social interaction. Sometimes it felt like the one thing he didn't know was what to say.

 

“I started that fire. I know it was my fault.”

 

John's brow pinched at Mick's words. He didn't know why it was so important to him that Mick both knew John didn't blame him and also stopped blaming himself. John really didn't hold it against him, the few details Mick had provided were more than enough to paint the picture and John knew too much not to fill in the gaps and extrapolate. What was strange was the unexpected desire to get Mick to forgive himself. He tried again.

 

“You said it yourself; pyromania and wood houses don’t mix. You just...got unlucky.”

 

Mick just stared at him for a long moment, his face unreadable. Finally, he looked away, down to where his hands were still fiddling with the label of his bottle.

 

“I forgot how good you were at makin’ excuses for me.”

 

John couldn't help but smile again as some of the heaviness that had hung over them fell away.

 

“Could you tell me about them? Our family?” John asked, hoping the question wasn't too painful.

 

“Yeah,” Mick agreed, something making his voice quiet and wistful. “Yeah, I can do that.”

 

* * *

 

Mick watched John as he told him about their authoritarian father, their sweet and often exhausted mother, their four other rowdy siblings, and their small legion of distant cousins back in their mother's homeland. He probably shouldn’t have, but Tommy got so excited when he told him about their distant family that he promised to dig up some contact info for him. He was willing to deal with any potential repercussions from changing the past if it meant Tommy got to have another connection to who he was.

 

Until this meeting, Mick hadn’t realised how much he’d forgotten about being a big brother. He’d forgotten how it felt to have someone look at you like you had all the answers. He’d forgotten the almost visceral drive of protectiveness that came at the knowledge that someone else had hurt his little brother. Tommy’s hurt may not have been physical, but having his sense of self so thoroughly stolen left him in a kind of pain Mick could only barely understand. But unlike during their childhood, there were no schoolyard bullies for Mick to track down and pummel, just a shadowy spectre of an organisation still dogging Tommy’s steps. Mick really hoped those Phoenix assholes Tommy told him about were the ones behind the aberration, because then Mick would get the chance to incinerate their asses. For now, he could only ease his brother’s pain be sharing the scraps of their childhood he remembered that Tommy gobbled up greedily.

 

He’d forgotten the pride that came from his little brother’s achievements. It wasn’t just Tommy’s insane new intellect, but the little things that impressed him too. Tommy had been a blank-slate, all alone in the world, and yet he had managed to build a life, had found himself a tribe of dear friends, however small. It was that tenacity and unwillingness to give up that Mick was most proud of.

 

Mick lost track of how long they’d been talking, but he was on his third beer by the time they were interrupted by the sound of Tommy’s phone ringing in his pocket.

 

“Hello?” Tommy answered, somewhat reluctant to interrupt their conversation. “Oh, hey Frank.” He glanced up at Mick for a moment as he listened. “Yeah, sure, I can do that. Oh, and I’ll be bringing someone with me. There’s someone I want you guys to meet.” Tommy shot Mick a smile and in that moment he looked so much like the kid Mick remembered it hurt. “Okay, see you soon.” He hung up and addressed Mick. “Feel like coming to meet some friends of mine?” he asked, failing to hide his hopefulness. Mick wouldn’t have been able to say no if he’d wanted to. He shrugged and put his bottle down to get to his feet.

 

“Sure, I’ll meet your lame friends.”

 

“They’re not lame, they’re cops,” Tommy corrected with a roll of his eyes as he grabbed his coat.

 

“Like I said, lame,” Mick teased, feeling strangely light. He never thought he’d get the chance to tease his little brother again. “Maybe I’ll tell them that story about you and Amy Whittle.”

 

“Please don’t,” Tommy begged, although he was still smiling, “I don’t even remember it, but it was traumatic enough just hearing about it.”

 

In retrospect, Mick really should have asked Tommy where exactly they were meeting his friends.

 

“You coulda mentioned we were going to a police station,” he muttered darkly as he followed at Tommy’s heels, trying not to meet anyone’s eye. Tommy frowned, clearly the thought that Mick might not be comfortable here having not even crossed his mind.

 

“Sorry. Is it a problem?” he apologised, painfully sincere.

 

“Just be grateful I’ve never been arrested in Seattle.”

 

Tommy seemed to find that funny, chuckling under his breath as he led Mick through the labyrinth of the station. He greeted people as he passed and was greeted in kind; clearly Tommy was a common and welcome sight around here, which made Mick shake his head in consternation.

 

“Doe! You made it,” a voice called out cheerfully. It belonged to a middle-aged black man with a face made for smiling.

 

“Hey, Frank,” Tommy greeted him just as warmly, but Frank’s eyes had already slid across to land on Mick's hulking presence. His eyebrows shot up as he looked Mick up and down, assessing him.

 

“Who’s your friend, John?”

 

Tommy's face split into an impossibly happy grin.

 

“Mick, this is Detective Frank Hayes, one of Seattle PD’s best and brightest. Frank, this is my brother, Mick,” he stated proudly, thoughtlessly putting an arm around Mick's shoulders.

 

“Guess that explains the family resemblance,” Frank commented as he reached forward to shake Mick's hand. “Looks we can finally close that missing persons file on you, John.”

 

Mick grunted in response as they shook hands, still largely uncomfortable being in a police station voluntarily.

 

“Guess so,” John agreed, practically bouncing at the concept. “Where’s Avery?”

 

“Waiting for us downstairs, come on.”

 

He led the two brothers downstairs, past forensics labs and into what was clearly a morgue. Inside they were met by two women standing either side of a cadaver, one the kind-faced medical examiner and the other an attractive yet stern caucasian woman in her thirties.

 

“Good, you’re finally here,” the stern woman said briskly by way of greeting. Her face fell into a frown when she noticed Mick. “Who’s this?”

 

“Jamie, this is my brother,” Tommy informed her proudly. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she dutifully stepped forward to shake his hand.

 

“Captain Jamie Avery,” she introduced herself.

 

“Mick Rory,” he grunted back. The moment he said it she stilled, becoming tense as her grip on his hand tightened. She looked him over.

 

“Rory, huh?” She definitely knew who he was. Avery looked pointedly down at his wrist, where his jacket had ridden up to expose the scarred skin. “Those are some pretty serious burns. How’d you get ‘em?”

 

“Arson, mostly,” Mick informed her lightly, grinning at her surprise at his casual admittance.

 

“It was a long time ago,” Tommy jumped in gracelessly, “Mick’s paid his debt to society for it.”

 

“Not that long ago, from what I’ve read,” Avery countered in a deceptively conversational tone, her narrowed eyes never leaving Mick’s. She was still squeezing his hand almost painfully tight. “Light any fires lately, Mick?”

 

“Didn’t you hear the kid? I’m a productive member of society now. Honest,” Mick assured her glibly, still wearing that shit-eating grin.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth,” Avery shot back sarcastically, finally letting go of his hand. Mick was a little impressed to realise his fingers were numb. She shot Tommy a look that clearly stated they would be discussing this later, but turned back towards the coroner, all business. “Come take a look at this, Doe. Nance can’t make heads or tails of it.”

 

Mick tuned out the medical examiner’s explanation, something about unusual materials used to make seemingly random wounds. Tommy leaned over the body, examining it as he listened, occasionally cutting in with a pertinent question. When he moved to the side to examine the shards the medical examiner had removed from the wounds, Mick got a good look at the mess of slashes running across the torso. He growled low in his throat in disgust.

 

“I hate serial killers,” he muttered. Unsurprisingly, Avery zeroed in on him.

 

“What makes you think it’s a serial killer?” she demanded. Mick snorted.

 

“They carved ‘martyr’ on him in ancient Phoenician,” he pointed out. “That don’t scream ‘serial killer’ to you?”

 

Frank gestured to the mass of slashes. “That mess is a word?” he asked incredulously.

Tommy cocked his head as he looked back at the body, taking a step back and to the side so he could see it from Mick’s angle.

 

“Huh, it does say martyr,” he confirmed. He clapped Mick on the shoulder. “Nicely spotted.”

 

“Looks like we got Doe 2.0 up in here,” Frank commented, his eyebrows raised as he gave Mick a speculative look.

 

“Just know a little history,” Mick muttered. He doubted they'd believe he’d learned it to read road signs while tracking a time pirate through Phoenicia.

 

“Right,” Avery drawled dubiously, once more eyeing Mick suspiciously.

 

Thankfully, Tommy started talking about the potential implications of what he’d gleaned combined with Mick's observation, effectively drawing all attention away from Mick. He tuned most of it, instead focusing on the way Tommy seemed to light up as he explained and extrapolated on his observations. Mick found himself reminded of Ray or Nate when they got into the groove of explaining their passions, and had to repress a chuckle. Putting Tommy, Ray and Nate together in a room would be like trying to wrangle a pack of puppies. Tommy also seemed to be comfortable being himself around these people. The kid Mick remembered had been friendly yet very self-conscious, often sticking close to his older siblings in social situations. But Tommy clearly trusted these people, this little family he’d built for himself.

 

Mick was shaken out of his musings by an insistent hiss next to his ear. He glanced to the side to see Ray perched on his shoulder, shrunken to the size of a bean and holding up the comm earpiece Mick decided to forgo for his unexpected reunion. Glancing up, Mick made sure no one was paying attention to him before taking the comm and pressing it into his ear. Ray immediately flew off out of sight.

 

“Hey, where’s the can?” Mick interrupted.

 

“Just down the hall, on your left,” the medical examiner answered absently. Mick nodded his thanks and silently slipped out the door.

 

“What?” he snapped quietly as soon as he was alone in the hallway.

 

“We got a problem,” Sara's voice informed him through the comm, “you’re being followed.”

 

“Me or Tommy?”

 

“Probably Tommy. At first it was just one staking out the bar, but once you showed up, Gideon picked up some chatter and your tail started growing. There's at least eleven people scattered around observing that police station now, and I think more are on the way.”

 

“You think me being here freaked out the people who were watching him, and now they’ve bumped up their timetable.”

 

“We think they're gonna try and take him tonight,” Ray confirmed from where he had sidled up to Mick, once more over six feet and tucking his suit into his jacket pocket. “We gotta get your brother out of here.”

 

Mick scowled.

 

“And go where?”

 

“Waverider’s on the roof,” Ray informed him with a pre-emptive wince.

 

“You wanna put him on the goddamn ship?” Mick hissed with a snarl.

 

“You got a better idea?” Sara snapped. “If so, I’m all ears, but we can't risk them getting their hands on him.”

 

Mick swore under his breath, but he already knew they were out of options. It had been risky enough, having Mick reintroduce himself to his brother, but the more Tommy got dragged into their mission, the more they risked changing history and the more they would need to rectify. The look on Tommy's face when Mick told him who he was, when he got a piece of himself back, had almost broken Mick's heart. Mick didn't know if he was strong enough to take that away again.

 

“They got all the exit’s covered,” Jax's voice supplied over the comms.

 

“How the hell are we gonna get him to the roof without him getting suspicious?” Mick grumbled.

 

“He’s your brother, figure it out,” was all Sara had to say.

 

“I’ll go on ahead and make sure the way is clear,” Ray suggested, giving Mick a sympathetic smile and swift pat on the shoulder before heading off.

 

Mick grumbled under his breath but dutifully headed back into the morgue. He caught Tommy's eye as he entered and jerked his head in a silent command for him to come over. Tommy frowned but none the less pulled away from the circle of investigators around the body. Jamie caught his arm before he could take a more than a step away, saying something to him quietly with a look of compassionate concern. Tommy gave her a soft smile and murmured presumably some form of reassurance, his hand falling to rest on Jaime’s shoulder momentarily to give added comfort to his words. Despite the tension of the situation brewing outside, Mick found himself smirking as he watched the display. He caught Frank’s eye, who’d seen the direction of Mick’s gaze and gave a commiserating eyeroll.

 

Finally, Tommy pulled away and headed over to join Mick, frowning at his smirk. Mick slipped back out into the corridor, knowing his brother would follow.

 

“So that’s why you hang around this place so much,” he hedged with a sly sideways look that left Tommy adorably confused. “She’s not bad, ‘though the stick’s a little far up her ass for my taste.”

 

“What...are you talking about Jamie?” Tommy finally managed to articulate. Their conversation seemed to be having the added benefit of distracting him from the fact Mick was leading him towards the staircase.

 

“Yeah, the hot captain. The one you clearly have an embarrassing crush on.”

 

“I do not!” Tommy automatically denied, although the reddening of his cheeks said otherwise. “Jamie an- _Captain Avery_ and I are friends and colleagues, that’s all. And she does not have a stick up her ass, okay, she’s just a professional who takes her job very seriously.”

 

“Right,” Mick drawled skeptically, immensely enjoying the opportunity to tease his little brother again. “And you definitely don’t want to bang the blue outta her.”

 

“You sound like Digger,” Tommy informed him with a long suffering groan. “For the record, I have nothing but respect for Jamie.”

 

“Never said you didn’t respect her, just that you wanted to screw her.”

 

Tommy opened his mouth to retort, but paused and looked around, finally registering their direction as they climbed the stairs.

 

“Wait, where are we going?”

 

“Roof,” Mick grunted. He’d failed to keep Tommy distracted, but at least he’d managed to get him up a couple of flights of stairs.

 

“Why are we going to the roof?” Tommy asked. His steps had slowed to a halt as he looked at his brother, waiting for answers.

 

“You said there were people messing with you,” Mick began, opting for honesty. He owed his brother that much. “Phoenix or something?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well, I dunno if it’s them, but somebody followed us here. The only place they don’t have covered is the roof.” He resumed their climb, and despite his hesitance, Tommy stilled followed.

 

“They wouldn’t because there’s no exit on the roof. There’s no way down,” Tommy argued, even as he quickened his pace to catch up to Mick.

 

“That you know of.”

 

They reached the roof and stepped out into the night, finding it largely empty save for the lights of Seattle. The ambient sound of the surrounding city was broken only by the thud of a fist hitting flesh, some harsh groans and grunts, and the sound of a couple of limp bodies hitting the floor.

 

“These guys abseiled from the building next door. Can you believe it, who even does that?”

 

Mick and Tommy both spun sharply at the sound of Nate’s voice. Tommy’s jaw dropped as Nate stepped out from where he’d been obscured behind a large air-conditioning unit, his silver skin glittering with the city lights. He took a tiny involuntary step back as Nate approached them with a friendly grin.

 

“Hi, you must be John.” Nate held out a hand to shake. “I’m Nate, I’m a friend of Mick’s...sort of?” The uncertain amendment seemed to be in response to Mick’s scowl, unaware of the true reason Mick was glaring at him. Nate’s brow furrowed in confusion as John just gaped at him, only taking his hand to shake after a long, awkward moment.

 

“You’re still steeled up, dumbass,” Mick chided him, suppressing a long-suffering sigh. He hadn’t been looking forward to having to explain time travel, he’d at least hoped he’d have a grace period before he had to open the kettle of fish that was metahumans.

 

“Oh, sorry,” Nate apologised, his skin returning to a human shade while still shaking Tommy’s hand.

 

“Amazing,” Tommy whispered as he let go, having apparently recovered his faculties. “I could actually feel the texture and density change. How did you do that?” In Mick’s opinion, Tommy was inordinately happy to discover a process he did not immediately understand.

 

“Nerd out later, we got-”

 

Mick was interrupted by Ray spilling out through the roof access in a tumble of awkward limbs, slamming the door shut behind him. He smiled his usual big goofy grin as soon as he saw them.

 

“Great, you made it!” Behind Ray, something slammed into the door he was holding shut. “We should go. Gideon?”

 

In response, the Waverider’s cloak fell, revealing the twenty-second century ship in all her glory.

 

“What the hell is that?” Tommy exclaimed, his curious eyes taking in every facet even as he let Mick pull him towards the opening cargo bay door.

 

“It’s a time ship, I’ll explain once you get your ass on board.”

 

* * *

 

“Welcome aboard the Waverider, Mr Doe,” a smooth, feminine voice chimed as the door shut automatically behind them. A glance around showed nothing more than his male companions, shiny walls and metal crates.

 

“Uh, thank you,” John responded politely, aiming his gaze high, towards where the sound had come from. “Forgive me if I’m being presumptive, but your vocal tones sound synthetic…”

 

“That’s Gideon. She’s the artificial intelligence that runs the ship,” Nate responded for her.

 

“She’s the biggest reason this bucket still flies,” Mick grunted, leading the way down the hall.

 

“Thank you for you appreciation, Mr Rory.”

 

John felt as though his feet had been pulled out from under him. He was standing on a _time ship_ watching his brother have a conversation with an _AI_ , shoulder to shoulder with a man who could turn into organic metal. That was disorienting enough, without the fact that his brain was suddenly swimming with new information; alloy composition that wouldn’t be possible according to the science of 2003, amendments to the laws of physics that had once been set in stone, the staggering processing requirements for a truly self-aware AI. If he tried to make sense of it all he would drown, so John focused on the one solid point that remained; his brother. The rest he let just flow at the edge of his thoughts, feeling oddly as though his mental library was reordering itself. Considering how little he knew about the nature of his abilities, it was entirely possible that this was accurate; the mere act of stepping onto a time machine giving him access to the knowledge of the future. He chose not to examine that thought too closely, the idea of it was too daunting and he was already feeling overwhelmed.

 

Mick led them down the corridor into a large room with a window that displayed the rooftop of the police station slowly shrinking as the ship slowly and silently hovered up. The room was filled with chairs, consoles, and people; two of whom were familiar and all of whom were eyeing him critically.

 

“Woah, they really do look alike,” a young man leaning on the centre console murmured. He was leaning against the room’s centre console, watching their group arrive with interest. The elderly, bespectacled man next to him did the same, although his gaze was a little more calculating.

 

“Indeed,” the elderly man concurred.

 

“Hello again,” the african woman from earlier greeted him with an apologetic lilt and a friendly smile.

 

“Hey Mick, you wanna make introductions?” her blonde counterpart suggested.

 

“Sure,” Mick grunted, proceeding to point at people as he listed them off. “Blondie’s the captain, and an assassin, so unless you want your ass kicked, don’t piss her off.”

 

“I’m Sara,” the blonde amended more helpfully with an unamused look in Mick’s direction. “And it’s ‘former’ assassin.”

 

“Uh huh. That’s Vix-”

 

“Amaya,” the other woman cut in.

 

“-she’s from the forties, has magic animal-summoning powers.”

 

“Wait, so the fabled abilities of the Tantu totem are real?” John interrupted. Amaya’s hand drifted up to rest on her totem, an amused smile on her lips.

 

“Very,” she confirmed. John would have asked for more details, but Mick steamrolled forward with his personalised introductions. He gestured to the two men standing by the centre console.

 

“The Kid and the Professor-”

 

“I’m Jax, that’s Stein,” the young man supplied, his full lips curling with poorly hidden mirth.

 

“-Professor probably knows more physics than you and the Kid is the other reason this tin can still goes.”

 

“Accurate,” Jax agreed with a shrug.

 

“Oh, and when they touch they turn into one person who’s on fire.”

 

“Once again, an accurate, if somewhat simplistic, interpretation of the Firestorm Matrix,” Stein added a little haughtily.

 

“You met Pretty outside being his dumbass self, and that’s Haircut. He can make and, instantly break, just about anything. And he shrinks.”

 

“Hey, my suit hasn’t broken yet,” the tall, dark-haired and good-natured man who’d joined them earlier piped up.

 

“ _This_ one hasn’t,” Mick grumbled pointedly.

 

The other man ignored him to step forward and hold his hand out to John, a warm smile on his face.

 

“I’m Dr Ray Palmer, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. We were all excited to find out about Mick’s brother!”

 

“Flabbergasted would be a better term,” Stein muttered under his breath.

 

John reached out and shook Ray’s offered hand.

 

“It’s...exciting to meet you all as well,” he responded. “I’m John. Or, well, Tommy now, I suppose.” He gave Mick a self-deprecating smile. “That’s gonna take some getting used to.”

 

“Call yourself whatever feels right,” Mick grunted with a shrug, utterly unconcerned by John’s slip. “If it helps, your middle name is Johnathan.”

 

“Really?” John couldn’t help perking up at that tidbit. “Huh. So I’m Thomas Johnathan Rory?”

 

There was a loaded pause before Mick responded. “Tommy ain’t short for Thomas.”

 

John cocked his head in Mick’s direction, frowning as his overactive brain flicked through all the other possibilities. “So then what is it short for?”

 

Mick shifted, his eyes flicking around the room and John noticed for the first time that he looked a little uncomfortable.

 

“It’s short for Tamati,” Mick grunted finally. “Ma named us after her uncles.”

 

“Oh. So, I’m guessing Mick isn’t sure for Michael?”

 

“No.” Once again, Mick’s eyes flicked to the others around the room.

 

“Really?” Ray piped up, clearly intrigued. “What is it short for?”

 

Mick scowled darkly at him, but then his eyes fell on John and softened. He sighed heavily and shifted his weight ever so slightly.

 

“Mikaere,” he mumbled. Ray opened his mouth but Mick interrupted him before a sound came. “Don’t say it!” he snapped, pointing an intimidating finger at Ray. “Don’t even try. I will burn the tongue off of anyone who tries to say my name.”

 

“Noted,” Ray squeaked.

 

“It get butchered a lot?” Jax asked knowingly.

 

“Every goddamn teacher, lawyer and judge I ever had,” Mick confirmed tiredly. Privately, John wondered if that was all it was. He had a sneaking suspicion that the fact that the only people who had ever pronounced Mick’s name correctly were also the family he had burned might have something to do with his reluctance to hear it. He figured a change of subject was in order, which was convenient considering he had so many questions.

 

“How exactly did you end up on a...time ship?” he asked gesturing around him as he searched for words. “And where did it come from? Or, when? The understanding of fourth dimensional physics required to move a single atom through time, let alone an entire ship, is completely beyond human understanding in this century.”

 

“Very good, Mr, er, Rory,” Stein said, stumbling just a little over his name. “The Waverider is twenty-second century technology.”

 

“So soon?” John mused, surprised. “That would require some significant leaps forward in scientific understanding. As would, I assume, the development of abilities such as yours.” He gestured between Nate, Jax and Stein.

 

“Well, the guy responsible for metahumans kind of cheated,” Jax explained. “He was also a time traveller, a speedster. He built a particle accelerator that exploded and released a wave of dark matter that changed people.”

 

“Dark matter…” John muttered, his brain whirling with possibilities. “Technically, if one could harness it, the possibilities for a substance like that are limitless. That combined with knowledge from the future trickling through the scientific community, assuming the speedster had help building his accelerator, could easily be enough to advance scientific understanding exponentially.” A thought occurred to him, and he turned to Mick. “Wait, if you’re time travellers, then...what year are you from?”

 

“2017,” Sara answered.

 

“2017.” Tommy rolled the words around his mouth and his mind, thinking. An extraordinary  group of people, including his brother, somehow gained access to technology from the far flung future. The idea that they had used that great power to travel just fifteen years back in time to see him seemed highly unlikely. “I’m getting the feeling you didn’t come here just for a family reunion?” He directed the question to Mick. Mick tilted his head in a half shrug.

 

“Didn’t even know you’d be here,” he admitted.

 

“We came here on a mission,” Sara added.

 

“What kind of mission?” John demanded.

 

“To protect the timeline,” Stein intoned gravely. “That is our purpose, why we were gathered. And today, that mission means protecting you from those that mean you harm so that you can continue to do the good you have been in this city.”

 

“But when you came here, you didn’t know it was me you were looking for?” John led, his stomach twisting as realisation dawned.

 

“No,” Sara confirmed, “just that we were looking for a savant named John Doe.”

 

Abruptly, John turned to Mick.

 

“Can we talk privately?” he asked, although his clipped, hard words made it clear that this was not a request.

 

“Uh, sure,” Mick muttered with a frown, but dutifully led John down the hall and to what appeared to be either a small library or a large study. As soon as they entered, John paced away from Mick, feeling like he needed some distance between them for the first time that night. Mick just frowned deeper and crossed his arms as he watched.

 

“Thirty years,” John stated finally, once he’d wrangled his jumbled thoughts. He wasn’t certain, but he thought he saw Mick flinch slightly at his hurt tone. “Thirty years, and you never once came looking for me? Never wondered what the hell happened to me?”

 

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Mick bit out, his frown turning into a guilty scowl as he realised why John was upset.

 

“Well, I’m pretty good with complicated these days, so why don’t you try me?” John snapped back. “I thought maybe it just took you this long to find me, not that you didn’t even try!”

 

“I did try!” Mick snarled. “The second I got out of juvie, I looked for you, and you know what I found? Nothing!” he exclaimed, gesturing broadly in his agitation. “I figured you’d done everything you could to get as far away from me as possible and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna waste my time chasing someone who hated me.” Out of nowhere, his anger dimmed and his shoulders slumped, the distant melancholy John had glimpsed earlier returning. He sat down heavily in as nearby armchair. “So yeah, I stopped looking.” A mirthless laugh huffed out of him. “I thought you hated me and it turns out you didn’t even remember I existed.”

 

“Mick, you didn’t know.”

 

“Would you have stopped looking?” Mick asked bluntly. “If you knew you had a little brother out there, all alone, and still just a kid?”

 

“No,” John answered honestly, “I wouldn’t have.”

 

“Exactly. That was you. You were always the good kid, always following behind and telling me why the dumb shit I wanted to do was dumb. You know where I am in ‘02?” Mick asked unexpectedly. John shook his head slowly before pausing, the answer coming to him from the depths of his brain.

 

“Prison.” John leaned heavily back on the desk behind him. “You were in prison after being convicted of arson. You were also accused of theft but that was never proven.”

 

“Yeah, my partner got away with the loot. He was pissed I took the fall for him though. But the point is, that’s the kind of guy I am; a thief, a thug, a killer.” The last one was said with enough emphasis that John was immediately certain their family were not the only lives Mick had ended.  “And you deserve a brother who gave enough of a shit to keep looking for you.”

 

Silence followed Mick’s declaration. John didn’t really know what to think. He’d known his brother wasn’t exactly a law abiding citizen, but it was only now that this had been truly spelled out. John’s own relationship with the law wasn’t always entirely straight and narrow, but even then he only ever acted outside the law out of necessity. Mick outright shunned it, had even admitted to burning a building down just so his friend could escape with their stolen goods. A guilty little part of him wasn’t surprised, had always known subconsciously that Mick was a criminal, yet John had refused to acknowledge it, too caught up in the joy of finding family again. Mick clearly expected John to be upset by his profession, and in truth, John wanted to be. He wanted to stand by his morals, to hold Mick to a standard, and yet he found that he couldn’t. Part of it was not wanting to push away his brother, but that wasn’t the whole reason. There was something niggling at the back of his mind, some little details that weren’t quite coming together, yet still stopped him from seeing his brother as a lost cause.

 

“Why?”

 

Understandably, Mick was confused by the vague question after John’s extended pause.

 

“Why what?”

 

“Why…” John trailed off, his hands twitching in front of him as he searched for the right words. “Why do this?” He gestured vaguely at their surroundings. “Why do any of this? Why risk your life with time travel? Why help save people, save me? Why do any of it if the only thing you’re out for is yourself?”

 

Mick didn’t avoid John’s eyes, but he did still have that guilty, uncomfortable expression that suggested if it were anyone else but John, he would probably have walked out by now. He sighed heavily, scrubbing one hand down his face.

 

“I need a drink,” he muttered under his breath.

 

“No, don’t do that, don’t hide behind alcohol,” John snapped, tired of trying to puzzle through this when his brain was already struggling with the upheaval of information from being on a timeship. “I work in a bar, Mick, I see that avoidance mechanism all the time. Just, please, just talk to me. Help me understand the man you’ve become. Because the person you describe and the person I’ve seen are two very different people and I, I need to know who I’m really dealing with. I just...I just want to know my brother.”

 

Mick stared down at his hands for a long moment. Despite the way he was hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees, John could see the tension radiating through him. John waited him out, and eventually Mick took a deep breath and began to speak.

 

“I, uh, I got dragged into this mission. Some brit came along with pretty words about protecting the timeline from some immortal jackass, and my partner lapped it up. Claimed he wanted to go along to be the best thief of all time, but I knew it was bullshit. He wanted to be a hero, a legend, and he roped me along with him. ‘Course, turns out Rip lied, but that’s not important. What’s important is that when I wanted off this bat-shit ride, I betrayed the team.” Mick met his eyes now, clearly gauging his response. John kept his face blank, waiting patiently for Mick to continue. “Instead of offing me, like I thought he would, Leonard left me in some empty part of the timeline, figuring he’d come back for me when the mission was over. Instead, the Time Pigs got their hands on me. They tortured me, brainwashed me into being their puppet. And then they unleashed me on the team. You know what the others did when they realised it was me they’d been fighting? The bastard who’d betrayed them, tried to kill them, and then hunted them across time? They tried to save me. Leonard shattered his own hand, almost let me kill him, just to get through to me.” Mick paused to take a deep, shuddering breath, and John wondered if he was aware of the way his eyes shone with the tears he no doubt refused to shed. “And then the idiot had go and get himself killed saving time itself, saving me. So yeah, that’s why I do this,” Mick clarified finally, “because my best friend died making sure history stayed free, and because once upon a time, those idiots out there looked at me and saw someone worth saving. When people fight for you, die for you...can’t help but wanna try and make it worth it.”

 

That was it, that was the reason John couldn’t bring himself to see Mick as the villain he clearly saw himself as. He couldn’t think less of someone struggling to be a better person after a lifetime of vice.

 

“You know, I don’t know what I deserve,” John responded finally. “But I can say that I am happy to have a brother who’s trying to be a better person.”

 

“Trust you to see it that way,” Mick muttered a little incredulously, although clearly relieved by John’s words. “Don’t ever tell the team I said that stuff?” he added after a moment, looking honestly concerned that John might do just that.

 

“What, tell them you actually care?” John teased, glad to bring some levity back to the heavy atmosphere.

 

“Yeah, I’ll never hear the end of it,” Mick grumbled.  

 

“Good thing I already knew that then,” Ray stated cheerfully from the doorway, making Mick jerk in surprise. “Sorry to interrupt, but Sara wanted us to brainstorm with John, maybe see if we can pin down the group tracking him.” The sound of approaching footsteps could be heard from down the hall. Mick took that as his cue, rising to his feet.

 

“Sure, wanted to go grab a snack anyway,” he muttered, heading towards the door. John stepped forward to get his attention, glad when his brother paused as he drew level with him.

 

“Thank you,” John murmured, hopefully low enough so that only Mick could hear, “for being honest with me.”

 

Mick didn’t speak, he just nodded, meeting John’s eyes in a look of understanding before pushing past Ray to head for the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

Space was definitely something Mick had needed after an evening spent resurfacing heavy truths that he’d kept comfortably closed off for much of his life. He couldn't remember the last time he'd told anyone his siblings names or had to explain why he hates hearing a seemingly random Sinatra song. Meeting Tommy had been like digging up the old Mick, the awkward kid trying to hide how scared he was of himself by lashing out at the world around him. He’d buried his childhood along with his family, something not to be touched for the pain it caused, pain he didn't want to acknowledge. But Tommy had needed those memories, needed them like air, and Mick had offered them up because his pain was nothing compared to Tommy's. In truth, it was nothing Mick hadn't expected going in, the memories of their shared loss being essential to restoring their connection. He hadn't expected to have to dredge up his own loss, the choice to let Tommy go, the last piece of his past that once kept him tethered. He hadn't expected to expose the man he'd been, the one who’s stepped on this ship with no goal beyond gain and no loyalty but to the man who stepped aboard with him. He hadn't been prepared for the shame he’d felt, baring his past mistakes for Tommy to see. It felt like he might taint his brother somehow, showing the darkness he was capable of when Tommy was filled with so much light and hope. And most of all, he hadn't expected Tommy to see all of this and understand. To hear the flimsy reasons Mick had for being here, reasons he didn't always quite understand himself, and deem them acceptable. He'd found himself overwhelmed, feeling too much of too many emotions that he'd had too little experience with since his family died. So he took the out when it was offered, spending five minutes alone in the kitchen getting his head on straight.

 

Now, though, now Mick got to sit back and enjoy the show.

 

“I hate to contradict you, Professor, but that’s not actually accurate.”

 

“I beg your pardon, young man?”

 

“While your understanding of temporal physics is largely unparallelled, you’re making a lot of assumptions based on three-dimensional physics which disregard vital factors and, I’m sorry, but that kind of rigidity and relative permanence just doesn’t apply.”

 

“Weren't we supposed to be talking about something else?” Nate pointed out.

 

“In a moment, Dr Heywood, this is more important,” Professor Stein waved him off, clearly invested in proving he was right.

 

“I'm with the Professor,” Ray added, “I mean, you can't seriously be saying the ship doesn't move when it time-jumps. We feel it move! We can see it happening.”

 

“You perceive the movement, because that's what your senses are limited to. Look, the basics of the concept are already being theorised in my time. First postulated by Miguel Alcubierre in 1994 and refined by Allen, West and Ramon in 2033, time travel technology is based around the theory that you can time travel, not by moving through time, but by essentially staying still while manipulating the expansion and collapse of space-time around you to change your relative position within the continuum. Now, the technology of this ship seems to refine that concept even further with the aid of…”

 

Mick zoned out at this point, although the nerds seemed to be riveted, Jax and Ray listening like Tommy was spouting gospel and Stein looking begrudgingly impressed that everything he said was so far correct. Nate, however, looked dazed, stepping out of the circle of brains to lean against the wall by Mick. Mick was so entertained watching the spectacle, Nate managed to steal two handfuls of popcorn from Mick's packet before the thief noticed.

 

“You understand a word they're saying?” Nate asked lowly as the lecture turned into lively discussion.

 

“Yeah. 'The’ and 'And’.” Mick's dry response made Nate snort and had the added effect of sending the last of his pilfered popcorn down to the floor. The historian pouted down at it, before throwing a curious glance at Mick.

 

“I did notice something earlier, though.”

 

“What?” Mick grunted, popping another kernel into his mouth.

 

“Before, John referenced a theory from 2033.”

 

“So? His whole new schtick is that he knows everything about everything,” Mick reminded him with a shrug.

 

“Including the future?”

 

That comment made Mick pause. He gave Nate a side-long look.

 

“What’s your point?”

 

“My point is that Gideon said he was a savant, not clairvoyant. What if just being on the ship is, I don’t know, messing with his gift? Letting him know not just everything about the present, but about all of time?”

 

“That’s a bit of a leap.”

 

“Maybe it is, and I’m worried about nothing. But we both know it’s never a good thing when someone knows too much about the future. And besides that, who knows what all that extra knowledge could do to him mentally? Or do you really think one person can handle the combined knowledge of all time?”

 

“Shut up!” Mick hissed, hating Nate in that moment for laying out all the potential danger Tommy could be in because of them. He growled low in his throat with frustration, prompting Nate to take a cautious step away from him. “Just...go tell Blondie.”

 

“What?”

 

Mick growled again. “You got a point. Go tell her.”

 

“Ooookay?” Nate agreed uncertainly, clearly surprised Mick was taking him seriously but dutifully slinked off to share his concerns with their leader.

 

Mick remained where he was, staring at the chattering nerds in brooding silence and sincerely hoping that Nate was wrong. Which of course meant that it was then that Tommy’s enthusiastic tangent came to a stuttering halt and a look of pain flashed across his face.

 

“John? You okay?” Ray asked, peering at him with concern.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Tommy waved him off absently. “Just a headache.”

 

“How bad?” Mick demanded, reminding the others of his presence.

 

“It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

 

“Really?” Jax added skeptically. “Because your nose is bleeding.”

 

Sure enough, a crimson trail was beginning to make its way down towards his lips. Tommy touched his fingers to his face to see for himself, coming away with blood smeared on his fingertips. He stared down at them in confusion.

 

“Dammit,” Mick grumbled under his breath. He stepped forward to grab Tommy’s shoulder and proceeded to lead him towards the medbay. “Gideon, tell Pretty and Blondie to meet us in the medbay.”

 

Upon arrival in the medbay, Tommy had perked up, appearing to be on the verge of commenting on the advanced facilities, but suddenly stumbled, his hand coming up to clutch his head in pain. Mick got a good grip on him before he could fall to the floor and half carried his groaning brother to lay down in one of the chairs.

 

“What...what’s happening to me?”

 

A blue light lit up his face as Gideon began the scan.

 

“Pretty had a theory that bein’ on a timeship might be screwin’ with your head,” Mick explained as he snapped the medical cuff onto Tommy’s wrist. “Said something about being able to tap into everything from all time being way too much to handle.”

 

“I am reading abnormally high neural activity with no discernible cause,” Gideon chimed.  “Excessive random neuron firing seems to be causing inflammation and intermittent microseizures. Permission to administer a sedative?”

 

“Do it,” Mick ordered.

 

Tommy’s eyes slid shut just as Sara and Nate appeared in the doorway.

 

“I hate being right,” Nate bemoaned.

 

“Good thing it doesn’t happen often,” Mick sniped back, being in an understandably foul mood.

 

“What happened?” Sara demanded.

 

“The Waverider seems to be having an unexpected effect on Mr Doe and his abilities,” Gideon informed her. “This could have long-term irreversible side effects should he remain on board.”

 

“Dammit,” Sara swore. She began to pace. “How long do we have before this starts to do serious damage?”

 

“I would recommend he remain for no more than ten hours.”

 

“Okay,” Sara sighed, “then I guess we have ten hours to figure out how to stop the assholes after him. Gideon, keep him sedated until then and do everything you can to heal any damage. Nate, go join the others in the library, I’ll meet you there.” She turned to Mick as Nate strode off. “Mick, if you want to stay and keep an eye on your brother while we do this, I understand.”

 

“Hell no,” Mick growled as he squared his shoulders, the picture of menace. “Those bastards are gonna fry.”

 

* * *

 

 

John woke to sharp, pinching pain dancing along the inside of his skull and low lighting. Even then, it seemed to stab into his eyes like daggers and he blinked and squinted, trying to think, to figure out what was happening to him. While his aching brain easily supplied colourful and detailed explanations, his thoughts were so scattered that he forgot it almost as soon as he thought it. He screwed his eyes shut, breathing deeply and evenly to try and focus on something other than the pain, but it wasn’t easy.

 

“Hey Squirt, how you feeling?”

 

Mick, that was Mick’s voice. John squinted to the side and sure enough, there was Mick at his bedside, gazing down at him with that look of heartbroken resignation.

 

“Been better,” John huffed out, “Be nice if it didn’t feel like someone stuffed a porcupine in my brain.”

 

“Sorry. Gideon had to stop the sedative so we could talk, she’ll give it back soon. There’s just...something I gotta ask, first.”

 

“Not at my best, but I’ll try,” John replied, trying to sound teasing but just sounding pained.

 

“Temporal energy’s messing with your brain. Basically, you know too much and it can’t handle it. We dealt with those Phoenix assholes, so they shouldn’t be a problem anymore. Now, we just gotta get rid of the damage to your brain and you’ll be fine as soon as you step off the ship.”

 

Every word out of Mick’s mouth seemed to be forced, his determination the only thing driving him to reach a conclusion he clearly despised.

 

“So what’s the hold up?”

 

John couldn’t be sure in the minimal lighting, but he could have sworn Mick flinched.

 

“We, uh, we can fix it. Get rid of all the extra that ain’t sposed to be in there. Only, the thing that does it, it‘s not exactly a precision tool. It won’t just take the future stuff. It’ll take the last day, too.”

 

“I’ll forget you.”

 

The whispered words felt like they’d been punched out of him. A ripple of emotion seemed to cascade down Mick’s face before he could school it back to resignation.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“What’s the alternative?”

 

“You’ll be in pain like this for the rest of your life.”

 

Tears fell from the corners of John’s eyes and he did nothing to stop them. This wasn’t _fair_. He had finally found his history, found his brother, found himself, and now that would be taken from him yet again because of the abilities he couldn’t control or understand.

 

“It’ll be okay,” Mick soothed. “You won’t remember there was even something to forget.”

 

“But you will.” And that was possibly the worst part, knowing that Mick found himself in a position where he had to do this to John and still live with that knowledge afterwards. John was sentenced to the ignorance he loathed and Mick was forced to carry all the guilt. More tears fell, blurring his vision. “Just, promise me something?”

 

“‘Course.”

 

“Look me up in 2017? It’s not changing your future if you didn’t know what your future was going to be, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Mick answered, his voice thick as he gripped his brother’s hand tight. “Yeah, little brother, I’ll find you. I swear, I won’t stop looking this time.”

 

John nodded, the tiny movement sending spikes of pain across his synapses that left him gasping.

 

“Okay, I’m ready,” he gasped. Mick took a deep, shuddering breath and lifted the short rod in his free hand, holding it in John’s direction.

 

“I’m sorry, Tommy.”

 

* * *

 

Gently, Mick lay Tommy’s unconscious body down on the couch in his apartment. Beside him, Amaya and Ray had their heads bowed, pointedly not intruding on this final moment between the brothers as Mick dallied, going so far as to adjust Tommy’s jacket until it lay just right. Finally, Mick stepped back, just standing and staring for a long moment as he committed his brother’s face to memory.

 

“It’s gonna be okay, Mick,” Amaya assured him in a low, soothing tone. “We stopped the Phoenix Group, he’s safe.”

 

“We can have Gideon look him up as soon as we get back to 2017,” Ray added. “You’re not losing him again.”

 

“No,” Mick agreed sourly as he turned away and headed for the door, “we’re just losing fifteen years. Come on, there’s a couple people we gotta wipe before we can leave.”

 

Amaya and Ray shared a commiserating look before following him out the door. Neither noticed the small scrap of paper safely nestled in John’s jacket pocket.

 

_January, 2003_

 

Mick stepped out of the front gate of Iron Heights and rolled his shoulders, taking a long moment to bask in the warmth of freedom despite the chill under the morning sun. Snart wasn’t there, which meant he was still probably pissed at Mick for taking the fall for him, but that wasn’t really a concern. They’d been partners long enough for Mick to know that Snart would eventually slink back bearing some gift to assuage his own misplaced guilt, pretending all the while that his reasons for returning were practical, not sentimental, and the two of them would be back to being as thick as the proverbial thieves they were. Mick just had to keep himself out of trouble long enough for Snart to get his act together.

 

Mick stepped out onto the gravel, intending to take the bus back to Keystone and find somewhere decent to lay low for a while, but stopped short. There was a car waiting in the gravel lot; a flashy, ostentatious sports car that screamed ‘new money’, and yet obviously sported the dust and wear of significant use. There was a man leaning against the hood, watching him, clearly waiting for him. Mick could only stare back. If it wasn’t for Mick’s own shaved head and more muscular build, he’d have thought he was looking in a mirror. The other man stared back, slack-jawed, seemingly just as spellbound.

 

“Mick?” the man asked hesitantly.

 

“Tommy,” Mick breathed out, barely able to believe what he was seeing. To his surprise, Tommy’s whole body seemed to loosen as tension drained away.

 

“You know who I am.” It wasn’t a question, more a cautiously relieved statement. Mick frowned.

 

“Of course I do.”

 

“Good, because, uh, I don’t,” Tommy admitted with a self-deprecating grimace and an awkward shrug. “So I was kind of hoping...you could tell me?”

 

Mick swallowed thickly around the unexpected lump in his throat.

 

“Yeah,” he answered hoarsely. “Yeah, I can do that.”

 

As Tommy’s sports car carried both brothers out of the parking lot, its tires kicked up dust and sent a small, crumpled piece of paper fluttering off into the breeze. Hastily scrawled on it was a simple sentence of just six words:

 

‘Mick Rory knows who you are’.  

**Author's Note:**

> On the subject of pronunciation:  
> Tamati and Mikaere are the Maori versions of Thomas and Michael, and are pronounced: 'Tah-mah-tee' and 'Mik-eye-rheh' (with a rolled 'r', that's very important).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Spark a Memory [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14578746) by [litrapod (litra)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/litra/pseuds/litrapod)




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